There wasn’t much furniture. Against one wall, a couch, covered in what looked like soft white leather, with matching pillows at each end. A round, glass topped coffee table directly in front of the couch, completely empty: no magazines, no lamps, no nothing. Another door, apparently the exit, in the far corner of the room, just beyond the couch. And, mounted flush on the opposite wall, a flat screen LED television, probably 60” wide. But there were no controls, not even a remote on the coffee table.
The room was clean and white and almost entirely bare: couch, coffee table, TV screen. Nothing else. Almost empty.
Is this a nightmare? Weird places, weird pains . . . and these dumb sweats are too big for me. She tiptoed across the room to the door, hoping that it would provide a way out. It was steel, possibly hollow, but she couldn’t judge the weight without knocking on it. She refrained, not sure that she wanted to attract attention at this point. The door had a burnished chrome doorknob that looked like it had been installed recently. When she tried to turn it, it didn’t budge. Then she noticed the keypad set in the wall, with buttons numbered one to zero. Locked. You need a combination to get out of here.
She began to bite a fingernail, as she often did when deep in thought. Then the television screen behind her began to glow and come to life, and she heard a man’s voice.
“Hello there, Cassandra. I’m glad you’re finally up and around. Please make yourself at home. I hate to give you another shock, but you might as well know the truth. You’ve been . . . abducted. Kidnapped. And you’re going to be here for awhile.”
Cassie whirled and stared at the giant TV screen as the man’s smiling face came into focus.
CHAPTER ONE: Kidnapped
Olivia Mendel’s body wiggled slightly in the driver’s seat of her Honda Civic as she cruised down Fleetwood Pike. Unbelievable, she thought. I want to dance!
She was listening to one of her favorite songs by Amy Macdonald, the Scottish rock star. People don’t have any taste! You’d never hear these songs at a party. They actually say something!
She quit squirming when she glanced in her side-view mirror and saw a battered red pickup truck preparing to pass her. She pressed the button on the steering wheel to mute the music, and started to slow down so that the truck could move past her more easily. Hey! What’s your problem? She pressed the brake harder as the truck swung into her lane, missing her front fender by only a few inches. Then the driver hit the gas and sped away, weaving his way in and out of the afternoon traffic.
Idiot, the girl thought. I had to take a test to get my driver’s license. How’d you get yours? She flipped down the sun visor and checked the vanity mirror, one hand running through her hair. Well, don’t let it ruin your day, she said to herself. You’ve got other things to worry about. She saw Shawhan Terrace coming up on the left, and flipped on her turn signal. Maybe Cassie’s home by now.
Amy Macdonald remained silent.
* * * * *
“Mom! I think I got it!” Dominic’s voice preceded the ten year old as he thundered down the staircase. Swinging around the bottom of the banister, he charged into the kitchen, a page of notebook paper folded in his hand. Daisy, lying by the back door, glanced up at the boy and managed to wag her tail a single time, then laid her head on her paws again.
Barbara Hixson, his mother, looked up at him from the kitchen table, where she sat studying the next week’s lesson plans. Forcing a smile, trying not to reveal the anxiety that had been nagging at her, she held her arms out to him. “Great! Way to go,” she responded. “I want to hear it. But Dominic . . . have you forgotten something?”
He wiggled into her embrace, giving her a squeeze, then backed away a step. “Um . . . forgotten? I don’t . . . oh! You mean my shirt.” His small frame was clad only in a pair of denim shorts: no shirt, no shoes, no approval from Mom. “Well, I was just, you know, studyin’ this list, up in my room . . . I didn’t think it mattered?”
Mrs. Hixson managed another smile. “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re right. This time it doesn’t matter very much. But what is it that we don’t do on the stairs? What is it that nobody but Daisy is allowed to do on the stairs?” The dog’s tail flicked at the mention of her name.
“Ohhh . . . I was runnin’ on the stairs. I’m sorry, Mom. But I memorized the list! Is that cool, or what?” He had inherited his father’s ability to quickly change the subject.
“That’s very cool, Dominic. And you know what? You’re going to go back up to your room, put on a shirt, and walk back down the stairs. Then you can recite the list for me.”
“But Mom, you said it didn’t matter this time,” the boy protested, an anguished look on his face.
“I said it doesn’t matter very much. But you never know when we might have company. Do you want to be running around half-naked when we have guests?”
“Sure!” he laughed. “Why not?” But then, as if engineered by Mom to make a point, the front doorbell rang.
“Yikes!” Dominic cried. He whirled around and dashed up the stairs.
His mother sighed and pushed away from the table. She had far greater worries than Dominic’s choice of wardrobe.
Daisy, always alert, had beaten her to the front door, but wasn’t growling or bristling as she usually did when strangers arrived. Pushing the dog aside, she opened the door.
“Oh hi, Mrs. Hixson,” said the girl standing on the doorstep. “Is Cassie home? I’ve been texting and trying to call her all day, but I think maybe her phone’s broken or something.”
“Hi there, Livvie. No, she’s not here right now. But come in, won’t you?” Smiling, she stood aside for the girl.
“Thanks!” Olivia walked in, carrying a copy of Anna Karenina in her hand. “Hi, Daisy, what’s new in the dog world? Want something to read?” She held the book out, earning a long, sloppy lick on her hand. “I guess not. Well, I love you, too.”
“Oh, Daisy. . . .” Mrs. Hixson sighed. Olivia smiled at her, wiping her hand on her jeans. As usual, Cassie’s mother noticed the girl’s easy, yet somewhat exotic beauty. Her naturally curly auburn hair flowed over her shoulders and halfway down her shoulder blades, complementing her wide brown eyes and full lips. Just a shade over five foot seven, her body was already perfectly developed and proportionate. Olivia Mendel turned heads wherever she went, but she did it effortlessly. She rarely even wore makeup, although she had a weakness for jewelry. She was aware of the stares she received, but she didn’t care. She already had a boyfriend, and she found him completely fascinating.
“Anyway, I wondered if Cassie’s okay,” she said, breaking into Mrs. Hixson’s thoughts. “And I needed to return this book to her, so I thought that would be a good excuse to stop by. Is it?”
“Yes, it’s a fine excuse,” Mrs. Hixson replied. “Tell me, Livvie, can you stay for a few minutes, maybe have a soda or some coffee?” She was genuinely glad to see the girl, whose beauty was matched by a maturity beyond her seventeen years. “You might be able to help me with something.”
“Sure thing! I’m not going anywhere. Except to find Cassie, I mean.”
“Yes. Finding Cassie.” Taking Olivia’s elbow, she steered her into the kitchen. “Have a seat there at the table. You can just push those lesson plans to one side. Coke? Coffee? Water?”
“Water would be great, thanks.” Her ornate triple-hoop earrings swung to and fro as she settled in at the table. “What’s on your mind, Mrs. Hixson?”
“Cassie is. You already knew that.” She handed the girl a cold bottle of water from the fridge. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t been able to reach her, Livvie. I’ve been calling her all day, with no results. She went out for her run this morning, at about 7:00, and she’s usually home by 7:45 or 8:00 at the latest. Then she finishes her workout downstairs, and gets her schoolwork out of the way by noon. And she always calls, wherever she is, if she’s going to be delayed. This isn’t like her . . . and not being able to reach her by phone. . . .”
Olivia frowned, then
took a sip of water. Cassie and Olivia were both home schooled, like many of their friends, and their study schedules were very flexible. But once they settled into a routine, they tended to stay with it. “You’re right,” she said. “Cassie’s maybe the most responsible girl I know. This isn’t like her at all. And . . . well, she’s not the type to take chances. She runs the same route every day, because she knows it. She feels safe that way. What are you thinking?”
A nervous, artificial laugh. “Well, I’m thinking the worst. I’m her mom: that’s my job. I just wonder if she had an accident or something, and hasn’t been able to get in touch.”
“Hmm. . . . Maybe she was in airplane mode? Does she turn off her phone when she does her workouts?”
“Not when she’s running,” Mrs. Hixson replied. “She uses the phone to listen to her music, but it’s always muted for incoming calls.”
Olivia thought for a moment. “Well, have you heard from Chad?” Chad Walker was Cassie’s boyfriend. “He might have talked to her.” She paused, and shook her head. “No, not that early in the morning. . . . ”
“She was doing her workout, Livvie,” Mrs. Hixson said. “You know how important that is to her. She hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet. Chad was probably the last thing on her mind . . . anyway, he thinks her workouts are silly. But no, I haven’t heard from him.”
Olivia snorted. “Chad Walker thinks her workouts are silly? Why, because she’s not a big football jock like he is? Boys!” She snorted again.
“I know, I know,” the older woman sighed. “Just between you and me, Livvie, I’ve never been all that impressed with Chad, even if he is the mayor’s son. And, also between you and me, I’m not sure Cassie’s that impressed, either. But that’s not the important thing right now.”
Olivia was surprised, and flattered, that Mrs. Hixson was talking with her so frankly. But she could see that Cassie’s mom was looking past her age, treating her as . . . well, if not an equal, then not a kid, either. It was an odd situation: the Hixsons were such devout Christians, and Olivia was Jewish. But it didn’t seem to matter. She’d try not to disappoint the woman.
“Have you talked to anybody else?”
Mrs. Hixson nodded. “Yes, when I started worrying, I reached out to a few of the parents from the Home School Cooperative. They asked their kids, and they all got the same answer: nobody’s been able to reach Cassie today.”
Olivia frowned. “Did you talk to Dr. Hixson?”
“Yes, I called him at lunchtime. He didn’t like it, either. He said he’d make a few phone calls of his own. Maybe he’s found out something. . . .”
The conversation was interrupted by Dominic’s return. Wearing a clean blue t-shirt now, he had actually walked down the stairs, and entered the room still clutching the sheet of notebook paper. “Hi, Livvie! Guess what? I memorized the presidents. All of ‘em!”
Olivia raised one eyebrow and made a skeptical face at the boy. “You did not. Liar, liar, pants on fire!”
“Go hang ‘em on a telephone wire! I did too! Wanna hear?”
“Sure I do, if it’s okay with your mom.” She cast a sympathetic smile at Mrs. Hixson, who was trying not to be exasperated by the interruption.
“As a matter of fact, Livvie, we were just about to —” She was cut off by the sound of the phone ringing. She almost fell out of her chair and rushed across the kitchen to grab the wall phone. “Hello? Hixson residence.”
Olivia looked at Dominic and put her finger to her lips. This might be Cassie. She knew that Mrs. Hixson had the same hope.
The older woman’s face fell, just enough for Olivia to notice. “Gordon! What have you heard?” Unconsciously gnawing on her lip, she listened to her husband’s voice. “Uh-huh. . . . Yes. . . . Right now? Sure, that would probably be a big help. I was just chatting with Olivia Mendel. She came over to return one of Cassie’s books. . . . What? Really?” She glanced at the girl. “No, I don’t think she’d mind at all. Okay, honey, see you in a few minutes.” She replaced the receiver on the wall.
“That was Dr. Hixson. You probably guessed that. He’s coming home early, and bringing one of his friends with him. Livvie, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you stick around? He said he’d like for you to be here. I can call your mom if you’d like.”
From the woman’s tone of voice, Olivia knew that the phone call hadn’t been bad news . . . at least not a disaster. But why would Cassie’s father want her to stay? “Sure, Mrs. Hixson, that’s fine. Mom’s not expecting me for a little while, and we’ll call her later if we need to.”
Cassie’s mother sat back down at the table. She smiled at Dominic. “Dad’s coming home early, Nick. In fact, he’s on his way. So while we’re waiting, why don’t you tell Livvie and me about the presidents?”
“Yes!” the boy cried, pumping his small fist in the air. He straightened himself up to his full height, which wasn’t very full, and handed his mother the sheet of notebook paper. “Okay, here goes.” He cleared his throat. “Presidents of the United States! Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe . . .”
* * * * *
Daisy trotted to the front door as soon as she heard the familiar car pull into the driveway. “Clinton, Bush, Obama, Trump,” Dominic gasped out. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he made a show of slumping his narrow shoulders in exhaustion.
Olivia and Mrs. Hixson both applauded. “Too cool for school, Nick!” Olivia exclaimed. His mother gave him a thumbs up, looking past him toward the front door. The boy had made a couple of minor mistakes, such as getting Andrew Jackson and Andrew Johnson confused, but nobody mentioned it. Daisy backed up a few steps as the front door swung open.
“Hello, is anybody home?” Dr. Hixson called as he entered the house, accompanied by another man. He slipped off his suit coat and hung it on the nearby hat rack, then proceeded into the kitchen with his guest. He and his wife hugged, more tightly than usual, and held it for a moment.
Dominic studied the sheet of notebook paper he’d been carrying around, double-checking to see if his recitation had been correct. Olivia politely averted her eyes from the Hixsons’ embrace. Daisy nuzzled Dr. Hixson’s hip.
What a contrast, Olivia thought, glancing up at the two men. Cassie’s father was tall and lithe, his full head of brown hair beginning to go gray at the sides, with regular features and a down-to-earth manner. His guest was several inches shorter, and perhaps four or five years younger, but his hairline was already receding so quickly that he’d resorted to a comb-over. He also had a bit of a belly, but not much. He wore a tan sport coat that had seen better days, a blue button-down shirt open at the neck, and a loosened necktie. Olivia immediately noticed the brass badge clasped to his belt: DETECTIVE, YORKVILLE POLICE.
Dr. Hixson grabbed Dominic’s shoulders and loudly kissed the top of his head, then released the squirming child and smiled at the girl. “Hi there, Livvie. I’m glad you could stay.” He turned to his friend. “Jerry, have you met Olivia Mendel?” He turned to the girl. “Livvie, this is Lieutenant Jerry Peacock. He’s an old friend of ours.”
“Hello, Lieutenant Peacock,” Olivia smiled, holding out her hand. “I think we’ve met before, maybe?”
The policeman took her hand and shook it gently. “You know, Olivia, I think you’re right. You were the young lady working behind the counter at your dad’s store when I came in one evening, weren’t you? About a month ago?”
Olivia nodded. “Yes sir, that was it. I think I meet everybody at that store. I don’t actually work there, but I hang around a lot. You were, um, buying a .32 revolver that night.” Her father owned a store which was very popular in Yorkville, partly because of the outlandish, corny television commercials in which he appeared, making his high-pressured sales pitches: “Howdy, Yorkville, this is your personal deal-maker, Sam Mendel, owner of J.B. Sanders Jewelry Company! Buy a bargain, sell a bargain! We’ve got appliances! Guns! Fine jewelry! Housewares! Electronics! What would you buy if you were gonna buy something?
” Viewers laughed, but they were happy to come and spend their money. Olivia’s dad was nobody’s fool, and had bought out his partner, J.B. Sanders, five years after they’d started the business together.
“Right!” the detective recalled. “I needed a new back-up weapon. You’ll pardon me, Miss, but there’s not a lot of resemblance between you and Sam.”
“I hope not,” Olivia laughed. “He’s got about a hundred and fifty pounds on me.” Peacock blushed, not wanting to give offense: Olivia herself weighed a hundred thirty pounds. Her father was a “large” man.
As they talked, Dr. Hixson walked to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of water, handing one to his friend. “Well, now that we all know each other, maybe we should adjourn to the living room. We’ve got some talking to do.”
Dominic tugged at his father’s shirt. “Dad! Want to hear me recite the presidents? I just did it for Mom and Livvie. You wanna hear, Lieutenant Jerry?” Nick had known the policeman all his life, and wasn’t even impressed when he caught a glimpse of the man’s revolver any more. He was like an uncle to the boy. “Lieutenant Jerry,” he giggled. “Your necktie has pelicans on it!”
THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA Page 2